


The Persimmon Job

by Arithanas



Series: A Huckleberry Above My Persimmon [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Comfort Food, M/M, Movie Night, Netflix and Chill, Secret Relationship, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Eliot stayed behind after a job well done to spend some quality time with a friend in a secluded spot.





	The Persimmon Job

**Author's Note:**

> With my gratitude to farkenshnoffingottom who help me with the beta work for this fic.

Parker sauntered giddily through the parking lot after they delivered the local team all the proof needed to dunk that group of malpractice grifters who had been playing with international standards to divert healthcare. The fact it was an American company in foreign soil—Minsk, in this case—infuriated Eliot in a way he couldn’t convey with words; at least the work they had done here would help people at home. International Corporations were the most fucked up domino fall Eliot had seen in his life, and he had witnessed enough.

“Time to get back home,” Hardison stated, whipping out his laptop. “I think we’ve earned first-class seats this time!”

“Make it only two,” Eliot said, fixing the beanie hat over his head. “I’m not coming back yet.”

Parker and Hardison looked at him with suspicion for a moment, but Eliot bore that look with grace. They were the most important people in his life, and he loved them dearly, but he had some needs it was not their place to fulfill. And this was one of the few chances he had to get those met.

He and Quinn had chanced to be in the same part of the world at the same time. A couple of text messages set up the booty call; Eliot was reluctant to table it. _ I have a treat for you_, Quinn promised over a text message and Eliot smiled at the memory. Probably his on-again-off-again lover had found some new mischief to try.

“I got friends in Belarus I want to meet.”

* * *

Their rendezvous point was a remote place outside Novinsky. Eliot was there earlier to inspect the place while they were getting ready to run the con.

The cabin was small. One living area with a chimney, one bedroom with a massive bed. Eliot could only steal a peek inside because the shutters were closed. Only one point of entry. The nearest neighbor was five miles away. That place should be safe.

Quinn had told him a friend of his lent him his cabin from time to time; Eliot didn’t need to break in to know that was Quinn’s propriety. The cabin was far too well furnished to be a weekend retreat, and he would be hard-pressed to find another person who had two travel suits covers on a house they don’t live in on a regular basis. Quinn wanted to keep his secrets.

After leaving Parker and Hardison at the airport, Eliot rented a bike and made his way to the rendezvous point. A light snowfall joined him. He stopped to get some rations, and he was there only five minutes late.

Eliot dismounted the motorcycle, tossed his bag over his shoulder, and walked against an icy wind toward the door. Quinn took his sweet time to answer the door, and Eliot tried to distract himself watching snowflakes fall through the beam of light that escaped the windows.

“Open the fucking door…” Eliot grumbled and protected his fingers under his armpits.

Reluctantly, Eliot had to admit the little cabin was mightily inviting when you were standing under the sleet. As soon as Quinn opened the door, Eliot let himself in without any ceremony.

“Of course!” Quinn exclaimed, watching how Eliot passed in front of him. Even at his own home, Quinn was wearing a button-up shirt and neatly pressed chinos. “Please, step in.”

“Good thing you were expecting company!” Eliot grumbled and stomped to force some sensations into his feet. The house was warm and that was a plus, but the stove let out an unpleasant waft that assaulted Eliot’s nose. “What are you cooking?”

“Borscht.” Quinn smiled and looked at him in a way that aroused Eliot’s urge to punch his face. The door was closing behind him without any noise. “I told you I had a treat for you.”

“It reeks like beets!” Eliot complained and tried hard not to cover his nose and mouth. Beets always made minding his manners a hard test.

“It has beets,” Quinn confirmed and moved to the kitchen. It looked old, but Eliot could tell Quinn loved this place. “I have been trying my hand at it for a whole month. I’m sure it will be edible.”

The kitchen décor was quaint, and the stove was an old firewood iron cast from the fifties. The small fireplace rested next to a half-open door; its flue radiated heat through the small house. Eliot put his bag on the floor and hung his jacket on the first peg he found. His mind was already working itself into a panicked overdrive to find a way to break to Quinn how much he hates beets without insulting either Quinn’s good intentions, his cooking skills, or his food.

“I need to use your fridge.”

“Have at it, hoss,” Quinn replied, breaking open a new bottle of wine vinegar. “Take a couple of beers out while you’re at it.”

Eliot quietly unloaded his backpack into Quinn’s fridge. In addition to the usual six-pack of beer, Eliot had come ready to cook the usual steak dinner for them, something quick and tasty to boost their stamina, but Quinn’s hospitality had rendered his good intentions moot. He picked up two brown bottles of Baltika and used the teamwork approach to pop both caps in one movement.

“What got into your mind to make…” Eliot struggled with the name of the soup.

“Borscht,” Quinn helped him with a small ironic smile. The word sounded almost exotic coming from Quinn’s mouth.

“Yeah.” Eliot looked at the open bottles in his hand. “Borscht.”

“For reasons not worthy to discuss now, I lived in several Iron Curtain countries when I was young.” Quinn stirred the contents of the soup to mix the dill. He was not used to the task; Eliot could tell by the way Quinn held the spoon. “Borscht tastes like home. That’s why.”

Eliot rolled his eyes and took a long sip of that beer without even tasting it. Things were getting better and better; now he had to insult Quinn’s childhood as well. Eliot put an open bottle next to Quinn and stared at the wall in front of him, noticing for the first time that Quinn conducted most of his business in the Slavic part of Europe. He must have made friends and enemies in his youth.

“Anything wrong, pal?” Quinn asked, putting the lid on the soup and taking it off the fire. “You’re not your usual self tonight.”

“I don’t eat beets, if I can avoid it,” Eliot mumbled as he toyed with the bottle on top of the counter. Part of him wanted Quinn to ask him his reasons; the other one struggled with the need to keep his secrets. “For reasons not worthy to discuss now.”

Through his peripheral vision, Eliot noticed how Quinn’s mouth parted a little in shock. A man with less training than Eliot would have rushed to explain that beets taste like sadness and desperation; that beets carried the memory of bad crops, of times when one had to eat whatever one could snatch from the land… Any other man would have tried to appease Quinn, to make excuses, to apologize for never discussing their different upbringings. Eliot was not that man and he breathed slowly, ready to take whatever the revelation would bring like a professional.

Quinn was a professional too. After the first shock, Quinn turned around and washed his hands on the kitchen sink. It was a maneuver to gain time and Eliot didn’t rush him, not even when he picked up the bottle and held it in his hand for what felt like an eternity. When Quinn took a sip, Eliot imitated him.

“We are ten miles away from everything,” Quinn declared after a long sip. “In the middle of a snowfall. I’m sorry I can’t provide something more appropriate for you, Eliot.”

“I’m not asking you to!” The apology was not necessary and to hear that ruffled Eliot’s feathers. At that moment, Eliot felt ready to give those damned beets a second chance to prove they are food. “I didn’t say I won’t eat your soup! Huh? Did I?”

“You are my guest.” Quinn sipped his bottle again. He was going fast on that bottle. “I’m honor-bound to make your stay pleasant.”

“Don’t…!” Eliot put his beer on the counter and faced Quinn. “I’m spending time with you. That’s enough.” He extended his hand to touch Quinn but decided against it at the last moment. “Let’s watch a movie. Let me work up an appetite.”

“I don’t know if I can keep sleeping with you after knowing this.”

Eliot almost smiled, because he could taste the sarcasm in Quinn's voice.

“I can eat anything when hunger strikes me right.”

“That I know to be true,” Quinn was quick to reply, and he finished his beer. “First hand.”

“May I get you interested…?” Eliot asked when Quinn passed by his side. If they were to spend a nice night, Eliot needed to find his way into Quinn’s good graces soon.

“Not right now,” Quinn replied and moved to open a cabinet on the other side of the room. He probably noted the lack of sincerity in Eliot’s offer. “Let me work up an appetite.”

Eliot pushed his bottom lip up and tilted his head, admitting in his heart of hearts that Quinn had a point. Then, beer in hand, Eliot followed suit to the dark green modular couch—another relic from Soviet times—, noticing the half-open door leads to the bedroom. That bed looked a lot more inviting than the couch, but they’ll have time to move to more vigorous activities later.

Quinn was setting the network connection through his phone to the flat screen concealed inside the cabinet. Out of respect for Quinn’s furniture, Eliot took off his boots before hoarding the corner spot. There was enough space to either side for Quinn and Eliot couldn’t help but notice the lack of a coffee table. His beer bottle ended in the back frame that was wide enough and almost looked made for the purpose.

“Do you still like westerns?” Quinn asked, without turning his back. “Or should I dare to make another wrong choice?”

“I still like westerns.”

Quinn selected The Magnificent Seven from a streaming service. Eliot made no comment and waited for Quinn to choose a side on the couch. Quinn sat to Eliot’s left and at arm's length. Eliot grunted and nodded and turned his eyes to the screen. If he had to endure a cold shoulder from Quinn, he might as well enjoy the classic.

As the movie rolled, Quinn thawed. A couple of buttons from his shirt were undone by the corral scene, and Quinn was cuddling against Eliot by the time the heroes reached the village. Eliot reckoned the little cabin felt a lot warmer with Quinn’s hand resting on his incipient beer gut. The movie had reached the training part, and Eliot’s mind had wandered to his fitness regime and the fact he hadn’t been able to have a decent gym session in a couple of months when Quinn decided it was time to open his mouth.

“What are we doing here?”

“Watching a movie.”

Quinn could have let Eliot’s non-committal reply slide any other day, but today he was not in the mood for playing coy, and Eliot knew he was to blame.

“But…” Quinn insisted letting the word stretch with a hint of insistence, “Why?”

“Because I like to spend my downtime with you,” Eliot said seriously, “watching movies.”

“And going down, for sure,” Quinn added and let his hand roam down.

“Stop it!” Eliot grumbled and crossed his legs to keep Quinn’s hand away from his crotch. “I’d like to finish one movie for once!”

“We finished the one we were watching in San Francisco!”

“Porn doesn’t count!”

“I swear, dating you is like dating a twice-divorced with two kids!”

“We are not dating.”

“We are watching a movie.”

“We would if you could hold that tongue of yours”

“I can find better uses for my tongue if you want a change of pace...”

Eliot side-eyed Quinn. Quinn raised an eyebrow and added that come-hither look that never failed to confuse Eliot’s boner. Well, they were in the slow part of the movie...

Eliot leaned toward Quinn and they kissed. Quinn’s hand slid over Eliot’s jeans, looking for the zipper. Eliot took pleasure in undoing Quinn’s shirt, button by button. Quinn’s skin smelled of sharp soap, aftershave and that peculiar smell Eliot had noticed on his own skin when he leaves the kitchen. The mixture made his head swim, and Eliot buried his nose in the crook of Quinn’s neck.

Quinn moved closer to get a better attack angle to Eliot’s junk, and Eliot slid that shirt from Quinn’s shoulders. The deep V-neck undershirt looked almost offensive against Quinn’s chest. Eliot slid his hand under the hem, feeling those hard abs and those erect nipples against his hand. Quinn was working wonders inside his jeans.

“What are you into today?” Quinn asked with a slightly breathless voice while Eliot was busy nibbling his collarbones.

Eliot stopped for a second to think about it. He had done enough damage with the dinner discussion.

“Your choice,” Eliot said finally. He could play any position with equal ease. “As long as it involves you and sex, your choice.”

“Humm…” Quinn purred and squeezed Eliot’s cock almost playfully. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy?”

“I have condoms and lube in my bag.”

“How little you know me, buddy…” Quinn said and smiled at Eliot. “Sit, I’ll show you a little thing.”

Eliot sat obediently and Quinn straddled his legs before extending his hand behind Eliot to turn the cushion around. Eliot could hear how the zipper went down (The fastening was the original one. Optylon, carbon and aluminum amalgam, that was a very distinctive sound.). Quinn grumbled a word in a Slavic language—a very common one, Eliot couldn’t identify the language—and presented Elliot a small bottle of Pjur and a package of three condoms.

“A resourceful man…” Eliot commented, sure that Quinn had squirreled similar caches around the cabin. Eliot’s choice would be Gun Oil, but Germans know their business and the results were always enjoyable.

“I was a _ pionýr _ long enough to learn to be prepared.” Quinn bit his bottom lip. “For everything.”

Quinn got up and started to take out his undershirt. Eliot watched, mesmerized at the way the different lights, the screen, and the fireplace, highlighted the planes of Quinn’s chest and belly.

“Wait…” Eliot mumbled, still dazed and grateful for the chance to fuck that beauty in the best way possible, and got up to touch that desirable body.

“Are we hungry now?” Quinn asked with a smile as his undershirt fell to the floor.

“You have no idea…” Eliot admitted and kissed Quinn again.

They kissed for a long time. Quinn dropped his pants and pulled Eliot’s shirt up, before hooking it behind his head. Eliot shivered when his hands roamed Quinn’s legs and bum; his skin was so soft and cool.

“Sit down,” Quinn commanded, pushing Eliot’s jeans down.

“Can I eat your…?” Eliot asked as Quinn tossed his socks over his shoulder.

“Maybe later,” Quinn conceded, pushing Eliot to the couch. “Right now, I can’t wait to be stuffed.”

“I'm going to hold you to your word.”

Eliot fell on the fallen, ransacked cushion and he barely had time to find purchase before Quinn climbed onto his lap. The small drawback from their occasional moonlight trysts was that they were spinning their gears way before they saw each other. Foreplay was always too short for Eliot’s taste. His hands gripped Quinn’s butt and pulled him closer. He had time to gawk at Quinn’s gorgeous manscaping before Quinn put up a show of resistance.

“Don’t!” Quinn protested and tried to pull away.

“Relax,” Eliot said as he prepared to close his lips over Quinn’s glans. “I can walk and chew gum at the same time!”

“Oh,_ blyat_…” Quinn stopped resisting and used the bunched fabric of Eliot’s T-shirt as a handle to steady himself.

Quinn loved a good blowjob; Eliot knew that first hand. As he worked Quinn’s cock with the same eagerness a kid would work the mixer blades full of frosting, he groped blindly for the lube. Quinn leaned forward into the caress with a small moan that betrayed his pleasure at the same time Eliot found the elusive bottle. That sound spurred Eliot to slater that silicone on Quinn’s puckered star. It has been too long…

“Eliot…” Quinn called with a quivering voice a couple of minutes later.

His voice sounded hesitant like he was struggling to form the words. If Eliot weren’t having so much fun stretching his way to pleasure, he could have reminded Quinn that Russian was one of the languages he understood. The game was too fun to stop now.

“If you don’t stop now, it’s going to blow in your face, buddy.”

Eliot, dragging the tip of his tongue between the rim of the glans and the foreskin, paid little attention. For once, it wasn’t a big threat (as if he had never swallowed before); for another thing, he finally had an answer about why Quinn wasn’t circumcised (Quinn might be an American citizen, but he wasn’t natural-born); and Quinn was grinding his fingers with too much relish to believe he wanted Eliot to stop.

But the game had to stop sometime, Eliot knew he had to let go of Quinn when his head started to lol over his shoulders and his eyes assumed the long stare of those who care little for the world. Reluctantly, with a wet sound, Eliot let go of Quinn.

“Damn you!” Quinn blurted almost immediately. “I was SO _close_!”

“Preaching to the choir, Quinn,” Eliot protested and signaled to his own crotch.

Quinn laughed and fetched a condom. Eliot crossed his arms behind his back, he had fooled around with Quinn enough to know he was peculiar and liked to make sure everything was in place. Eliot tried to lend the forgotten screen a bit of attention, but Quinn’s warm grasp made it impossible.

“...every inch…” Quinn was saying, but auditory exclusion had taken the best of Eliot’s attention.

Eliot arched when Quinn’s velvety softness engulfed his cock. A satisfied groan left his throat, and his hands gripped Quinn’s butt almost without his control. Quinn wrapped his legs around Eliot’s legs and put both hands on Eliot’s chest. Their eyes met for the briefest second before gravity helped Quinn and he slid down another inch. No movie, snowfall, or beet soup could get in the way of that pleasure.

Quinn moaned again and extended his hand to grip Eliot’s t-shirt. Eliot knew that look on Quinn’s face; rodeo was about to begin and his heart tumbled inside his chest with anticipation. Quinn hissed and hoisted up by pure core strength and tore another groan from Eliot. The pressure was exquisite but when Quinn moved down Eliot had to steel himself. His knees almost buckled with the sensation.

Trembling flesh clashing together, effort transmuted into sweat and groans, breath let out in short gasping puffs. The world shrunk to the symphony of overworked nerves plucked without respite. Quinn, eyes half-closed, rode Eliot like a desperate man; Eliot bucked under Quinn’s weight searching for the sweet release of that brewing hormone cocktail threatening to spill… Words tumbled from Quinn’s lips in a rushed manner. Eliot didn’t catch the meaning, but he caught the fraught intonation.

“What?” Eliot asked, caressing Quinn to make him stop bouncing on his cock.

“I can’t…” Quinn gasped, juddering from the exertion. “So close…”

Eliot scooted toward the wall, bringing Quinn’s knees to a more secure position. The angle was wrong, Eliot noticed. In his experience, Quinn needed a very precise angle of attack to get there. Eliot extended his hand and caressed Quinn’s wet nape, barely aware of the shooting fire coming from the screen.

“I get you,” Eliot whispered as he looked into Quinn’s eyes. “I get you.... Heads or tails?”

“Heads.” 

They rested, locked as pieces of a puzzle for a minute before Eliot pulled Quinn’s legs closer and pushed himself into a standing position. He noticed his mistake immediately, even before Quinn’s surprised cry died inside the small cabin. He almost tripped on those jeans around his ankles and the pressure on his cock and the effect of gravity on Quinn’s body almost made him lose it. Quinn was panting against his ear in short bursts because some other part of his anatomy must be bursting too. Eliot missed the coffee table again.

“Sorry…” Eliot mumbled his apology and turned around.

Quinn hadn’t had time to utter a reply before Eliot deposited his body on the couch without too much care. Eliot eased off his cock before this whole scuffle made him tap out. Fortunately, the Soviets knew how to make furniture and Quinn’s head fell neatly between the two cushions and didn’t touch the wall. Eliot, also fortunately, had had enough sense and reflexes to stop his beer bottle from spilling on top of Quinn’s naked body.

“Ow…” Quinn complained and raised his hands as if they had never experienced anything worse than being slammed on a padded couch.

“Here,” Eliot said, pushing Quinn’s ankles into his open hands before he could hold his head. “Hold’em for me for a minute.”

Quinn’s confused look melted into a shudder of delight when Eliot poured another squirt of silicone-based lube on Quinn’s red gaping hole. As Eliot rubbed the lube he wondered if that red ring was due to friction or beets, but that was a question for quieter times. Quinn, demanding attention, was looking at him between his spread legs with his cock so taut that it was jerking.

“Ready?” Eliot asked as he gave his cock another coat of lube. He knew Quinn liked to be fucked raw and lube was never an excess.

“Please…”

Eliot leaned forward, his slippery hand gliding over to grip his lover’s hard cock, and kissed Quinn. Their bodies slotted together without any hassle; those Germans really knew their business. Eliot began to thrust with all his might into that welcoming, warm flesh.

They were noisier now. They were splattered with lube to kingdom come, moaning loudly and sweating like they had been competing at the Iron Man; it was a good thing the nearest neighbor was out of hearing range. Eliot was vaguely aware Quinn was talking dirty in Russian, but he was too engaged to laugh (_Plow me like the kolkhoz’s cornfield, comrade!_) or to realize he had fucked the English out of Quinn. The pressure inside his belly was driving his thrusts deeper inside Quinn and his balls and his knees were double-daring each other to see which one would give out first. Quinn ended the argument without any warning: he gripped Eliot’s t-shirt and kissed him. Eliot’s head went void…

Next time Eliot knew of himself he could hear the movie. The Magnificent Seven's heroes were getting ready for the last shoot out. Eliot extended his arms and looked into Quinn’s eyes. Those were the eyes of a well-pleased man; Eliot felt proud. Quinn’s legs held him in place, his cock was still quivering between them. Without any hurry, with his head resting on Quinn fluttering chest, Eliot took off the condom and knotted it discreetly with one hand. A bit later, Quinn let him go and Eliot let him stretch on the couch while he pulled those treacherous jeans over his butt.

“_Shibumi_…” Eliot whispered stealing another look of Quinn in languorous disarray. He could feel the smile brewing on his lips.

“What’s that?”

Eliot could tell Quinn about how Japanese people use that word to mean an object with the quality of perfect simplicity or that it could refer to a person who had attained effortless elegance. He could tell Quinn that when one finds _shibui_ art one keeps looking at it without getting tired… that imperfection only enhances uniqueness. That Quinn had achieved perfection by being what he is without any apology and Eliot liked that.

“Persimmon,” Eliot replied, trying to contain the smile as he sat on the floor.

“Strange word,” Quinn messed Eliot’s hair. “That doesn’t sound like pillow talk.”

“That’s why I’m the huckleberry to your persimmon…”

“I should kick you out.” Quinn’s voice was devoid of irony or rancor, but his brain was waking up if he noticed the insult. Eliot took the continuation of the caress as a good sign.

“You won’t,” Eliot rested his weight against the couch. “We are ten miles away from everything. In the middle of a snowfall. And I haven’t eaten yet. Your honor-bound hospitality wouldn’t allow it.”

“I only have borscht to offer.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Oh, no!” Quinn laughed and brushed his hair back and stretched indolently over that now stained couch. “You won’t touch anything you have _ wrecked _ for half an hour at least!”

“I’m hungry enough—and lazy enough—to eat your beet soup.”

Quinn laughed and sit gingerly on the couch. Eliot had trouble stopping himself from leering over Quinn’s naked body. His lover might be sated for the moment, but Eliot was hungry in more than one sense.

“I won’t get up to heat that up!”

“If you could, I’d take that as an insult to my skills,” Eliot grumbled and pulled down his shirt. “I’ll take care of it. Pass me my beer.”

“_Poshyol ty'_!”

“Fuck me yourself, if you are man enough!”

Laughing, Quinn passed Eliot his now warm beer. Eliot gripped the glass cylinder and Quinn lounged forward to steal a kiss. Eliot closed his eyes and allowed the caress as a thank you note.

They watched the final showdown in amiable silence, surrounded by the warmth of the fireplace.

* * *

The rhythmic sound of someone punching the sandbag under the metal staircase woke Parker up. The alarm didn’t go off and Hardison was sleeping by her side. Parker smiled and put her feet in her bunny slippers and gathered her hair in a ponytail. Eliot was back to them from Belarus, as he had promised.

“Hey!” Eliot called with a quiet grumble when he heard her steps above him.

“Hey, you.” Parker stopped partway down the stairs, a smile spreading across her face, even as she scrutinized Eliot. “How was the rest of your time in Belarus? Everything went well with your friends?”

“It was good. All was good.” Eliot punched the bag a little bit more. “I tried some new food, had a little workout. Quality time.”

Parker nodded. If Eliot had a good time, there was nothing more to discuss on that front.

“We have a new job in Utah,” Parker informed Eliot. Leverage work never really ends. “Hardison spent the whole night putting the dossier together.”

“Are we going to have a meeting later?” Eliot stopped and mopped his brow with the towel around his neck.

Parker shrugged. It all depended on Hardison’s report and the urgency of the case.

“In case we do, coffee?”

Eliot nodded and took the phone from his pocket. Parker moved to the restaurant area and Eliot smiled. It was good to be home. He checked the message on his phone.

_ Going to Argentina. Next time_, Quinn promised in his text message, _ I’ll get you _ blini as_ thick as your cock_.

Eliot smiled almost against his will. He never expected to find someone willing to cook—Quinn was still very wet behind the ears in that department, but he tried—for him and it was nice to be the pampered one for a change.

It was nice to have someone waiting for him.

_Promises_, he texted back. The smile on his face was genuine this time.


End file.
